


Hymn

by Marigold_Magpie



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Mild Angst, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 04:58:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marigold_Magpie/pseuds/Marigold_Magpie
Summary: Here in the cool night air of the Pandoran wastes, the moon of Elpis hanging low, he feels like he can forget everything else. Forget the Vault, his aches and pains, the struggle. Here it’s just them, just her and the hymn of a pleasantness he had once only heard in his waking dreams.





	Hymn

Her hand is on his neck, fingers nearly brushing the neural cord running from the base of his skull to his spinal augmentation. He should bristle, tense at the closeness of it, the vulnerability. She could damage it, rip it from him and leave him powerless; arm an unwieldy, unmoving mass at his side. Yet he bows his head, smitten by the feeling, the intimacy of it, maybe a bit beholden to the danger.

Her touch moves further, fingering down the ridges of the construct attached to his back, he can feel his fingers plucking at a group of wires below one of the plates; he yields further. She could wreck him; maybe a short while ago she would have; torn the wires tooth and nail from his flesh. But not now, now her questing is soft, softer than he would have thought possible, or perhaps softer than he ever thought he would ever receive.

She moves to his arm, tracing the sharp protrusions rising from his shoulder plate with a calloused finger before moving to grip underneath. He watches as he hand flexes, as if trying to goose the metal of his ribs before she moves and touches the small row of spikes just beneath his arm.

“Mmmm, spikey armpit hair.” her words leave her like a soft epiphany and it takes him a few seconds to parse them. 

His laughter comes deep and rumbling from his chest; genuine, not the sounds that comes forth when he fronts his persona. 

She leans, focus shifting, and muscles his flesh and blood arm up and tugs at the fine dark hairs beneath.

“Yup, those are some deadly hairs.” he pulls away for the first time since she lay her touch upon his heated skin, her now teasing fingers ticking his underarm.

“Why are you so weird sometimes?” he laughs and flinches away when she gooses his ribs.

“This galaxy? This planet? Bound to make you a little strange; maybe it’s the water.” she says matter-of-factly.

His laughter turns into a fond rumble as she moves her attention back to his prosthetic. She can sound so concise, so sure of things in her dry humor; he’s certain a less cunning individual would take her silver tongued words as gospel.

He watches as she observes him, taking her in. The sweat beading along her brow, the thick ink stripes below her eyes somewhat smudged from the oil of her skin and the exertion of the day.

He would call her beautiful, but he feels that’s inadequate, because she is so much more than that. The strength that hums beneath her skin, feral and unbridled; the quickness of her tongue and the insight she holds. The absurdity of her humor and sheer gall of it. No, to call her beautiful would be unfair.

She glances up, honeyed eyes almost startled by the heat of his gaze; she bristles as if expecting a fight.

“What?” she presses, brow crinkling.

He doesn’t respond, not in words; instead he leans forward, her startled breath stolen when he presses his lips to hers. She yields to him, her body relaxes almost immediately and he breaths her in. She scoots closer to him, shivering and sighing when he tilts his head and makes a needy sounds in the back of his throat.

Flesh and blood fingertips grasp her bicep, she rises up to meet his rolling tongue with hers and he feels her fingers thread in his hair, careful of the port at the base of his skull.

Here in the cool night air of the Pandoran wastes, the moon of Elpis hanging low, he feels like he can forget everything else. Forget the Vault, his aches and pains, the struggle. Here it’s just them, just her and the hymn of a pleasantness he had once only heard in his waking dreams.


End file.
